


To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

by Neonplanet_doughnut12



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: (Can I count 15K as a slowburn?), Dreaming, Dreams, I hope, James Bond Fest 2020, M/M, Mission Fic, Oral Sex, Paris - Freeform, Rain, Shower Sex, Sleep, Slow Burn, Smutty ending, Storms, TW- one mention of an injection, Very Aesthetic, You Have Been Warned, no beta we die like men, past life vibes, snuggles, this sit took me three months to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonplanet_doughnut12/pseuds/Neonplanet_doughnut12
Summary: Q can't shake the feeling he knows James Bond from another life. He can barely sleep, and can just about operate as it is, but after Mallory sends them on a joint assignment to Paris, everything comes to a head. Will it be for better or worse?(Spoilers- its for better (: )
Relationships: James Bond/Q, Q/His Laptop
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah this piece of utter crap has taken me since March- and I can't tell you how GLAD I am its over. 
> 
> There is one mention of Q getting an injection about a third of the way though- I do warn, but just to let you know. 
> 
> Enjoy- and happy fest everyone!

The Quartermaster of M16 didn’t believe in anything as trivial as fate.

He couldn’t.

Numbers and statistics, elements you could move and _control_ , those were what saved his agent’s lives. If he dared put any hope in anything like chance, it would almost certainly end in death, consequently adding an even thicker sheen to the blood already coating his hands.

So, no.

There was no way in Hell that he could believe, even if he wanted to. 

And yet, and yet, and yet…… 

Q’s world had been twisting in and out of reality recently. He couldn’t pinpoint when it started, but _something_ was changing, waking up and stretching its limbs in the space he called his.

It was, mostly, due to the dreams.

As a child the Quatermaster had dreamt very vividly, so strong in colour, texture and taste his young mind had been convinced he was living in two worlds. He would chatter about it to anyone who would listen, be that his teachers at nursery, or the checkout assistant at Tescos. On multiple memorable occasions his mother would come home from work to their one bedroom flat and see him reaching on his tiptoes, black marker in hand, scribbling all over the walls. Unearthly drawings made up of numbers, letters and a whole array of lines would spread from wall to wall, and Q would point and explain excitedly to his mother all that he had mapped out.

Concerned she was raising a schizophrenic; she had finally taken him to a doctor. Q was diagnosed with an ‘overactive imagination’, or, in more professional terms, a ‘Fantasy Prone Personality’. He had been given a prescription for strong sleeping meds, and within a month, his odd behaviour subsided, dreams and ‘imagination’ burnt out by medication. As an adult he barely remembered any of it, and hardly dreamt at all. He just chalked it down to the whole ‘early childhood’ experience, and that was that.

But this had not been the case as of late. They came in dribs and drabs at first, these dreams. The odd glimpse of _someone,_ the slight impression of _something_ , but nothing was ever solid. It was infuriating to wake up to, it was like trying to grasp onto liquid sunlight. It didn’t help that reality seemed to have just been thrown out the window in these dreams- the only way to describe them was like a trip after over-dosing on LSD. Q had to think, _seriously think_ , so hard it hurt, to try and recall even the slightest detail. They’d leave him sweating, shivering and moaning when he woke, and he’d barely feel as though he’d rested at all.

And a human can only last so long with severe lack of sleep.

The straw that eventually broke the camel’s back and forced him to medical (because he liked it no more there than the 00 agents) was when he’d rather embarrassingly walked into a glass door in his branch.

“I can’t sleep.” He stated, sat on one of the beds which had pressed into perfection through frankly _brilliant_ ironing.

“It’s probably stress,” the doctor had replied, so fast in his response he hadn’t even waited a heartbeat.

“No, it’s not.” Q threw back, annoyed. “It’s different. I need something, anything. I- I can’t live like this.”

That was true. The lack of rest was becoming unbearable, Q could feel himself shutting down. It must have been a good, what- three days since his last good rest? And then that had only been an hour or so on his delayed train home. He didn’t seem to be able to remember a lot, and _everything_ hurt. He was one blink away from hallucinations he swore.

“It’s stress.” The doctor repeated, this time more soothingly, as if coaxing a child. “It’s okay. Everyone gets it, and you have an extremely responsible job. It’s natural.”

Q left with a tub of Valium, which he binned as soon as he was out of sight.

The rest of his lunch break was spent with his head in his hands, and picking at the leftovers from last week’s take-out he had heated up to eat. Everyone had given him a wide birth, knowing a grumpy and grouchy Quatermaster when they saw one.

Everyone it seemed, but the famous James Bond.

The man walked over, silencing interns and agents alike as he strode through the shit cafeteria, and dumped a bottle of _something_ on Q’s otherwise deserted table.

“Q?”

The offending man looked up with dark eyes, and a mouth pressed in a thin line.

“007, if you’re about to ask for something to be fixed, I suggest you piss off before I start yelling.”

Bond sniggered, and shook his head. “As cute as you are mad Q, that’s not why I’m here.” He pulled out a chair, and sat on it backwards, because of bloody course Bond sat on chairs like a model. It seemed he couldn’t even do that normally.

“I’ve been sent by M with orders to get you to bed.”

Q threw him a questioning, if not slightly threatening glance, and grimaced.

“What?”

“You heard me. You think that nobodies noticed you shuffling around like you’re on drugs? You work in MI6, Q. The doctor said you’re two breaths away from needing to be hospitalised.” Bond said, and drummed his fingers on the back of the chair- or rather- the front now. “I’m escorting you home and getting you to sleep. No more work for you.”

“Work’s not the issue though-“

“Yeah nice try.” Bond jumped up, and Q swore that it physically hurt seeing someone with that much effort. “Get up, or I’m carrying you out.”

Q stood before any more of his last remaining dignity was stolen from him, and like a dog hiding its tail between its legs, he followed Bond out the room and ignored the stares from his co-workers.

He barely registered the journey in the lift to the carpark- or the worried glances 007 would throw him every other minute. He was focused so much on standing and ignoring the vertigo that threatened to squish him it was hard to take in much else. He did remember Bond offering to help him to the car, and miraculously, finding the effort to give him the finger.

It was raining outside- that sort of drizzle that looks harmless, but can soak you steadily if you’re out in it. The bright taillights of the cars in front swam together in Q’s vision, further disorientated from the many droplets on the windscreen mirror. He squinted, and pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes again, an action that didn’t go un-noticed.

“Want to explain what’s really going on?” Bond offered, eyes refusing to look at the dark-haired disaster of a man sat next to him.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

Q sighed. He was tired enough to be compliant for once because he answered.

“It’s these dreams- they’re not really dreams but I can’t find another word for them.” He paused, and waited for the mockery that was certain, but when none came, he continued. “I wake up from them, and it’s like I haven’t slept a wink, even though my clock says that I must have.”

Silence for a few seconds. Did Q sound stupid? He must do, and now- _oh God_ , Bond will think he’s even more of a nut-job!

“Do you think drugs will help?”

“Huh?” Q was dragged from his spiralling thought track.

“Drugs? I was given some by Mallory ‘case you resisted. Do you think they’d help?”

Q ignored the fact that his superior had given 007 permission to involuntarily drug him, and considered.

“I’m willing to try Bond. I don’t care what you have to force into my system, I just want sleep.”

It came out as more of a plea than what he had initially intentioned, and this would definitely be brought back to haunt him when he got better.

Of course, while he would never, _ever_ admit it, Q had feelings for Bond.

Like- strong ones.

Who the fuck didn’t? The man was quite literally about as good as it gets- tall, blond, handsome, strong and always dressed to impress. Not to mention his charming personality. He had everyone in Q branch tripping over themselves and he bloody well knew it. And none more than Q himself.

Bond had just annoyed him at first, he could be very arrogant- just like Q himself, and the clash of two very big personalities had instantly sent sparks flying. Q had also been creeped out by Bond, his abilities to kill a man in complete silence had been one reason- but the other was a little more odd. Q hadn’t ever been able to shake the feeling that he knew Bond- had met him before, and just couldn’t recall from where. Right from the day they had met, it was like a severe case déjà vu. Q couldn’t explain it. And what Q couldn’t explain, he didn’t like.

This all changed of course. But- one dreary morning about three months after what had become known as the ‘Skyfall Incident’, Q had been splashed by a rude driver on his walk from the tube station to Six. He had been completely drenched, and had had to ring his clothes out multiple times. Bond had seen him, sat at his desk, shivering and soaked, had made him tea, and had lent him spare clothes (that were far too big), all without Q asking a thing. And it was like a fucking switch had flipped. He went from naught to sixty in the space of 0.2 seconds flat.

He’d pushed all of it down. Or at least- he’d tried to.

There were multiple reasons why it could never, would never, happen, and the list was longer than Q’s hair. Firstly, executives weren’t allowed ‘intimate relationships’ with lower ranks, and Q wasn’t prepared to lose a job he lived and breathed for over one man. Secondly- James Bond was notoriously, _how should I put this….._ , a slut. He only slept with someone once, and that was it. No strings attached; no feelings involved. The man treated people like a checklist, and Q wasn’t going to become just another conquest. He had more self-respect than that. And finally- (and this one was the hardest to accept) the man was straight. He only ever went for beautiful, ravishing women, who looked like they should be on the cover of playboy. And Q was _none_ of those things.

However, these were thoughts to mope about when he wasn’t so _bloody_ tired.

They arrived at his home faster than the tube could make the journey, even with traffic, and Q honestly didn’t know if it was Bond’s driving, or his phasing in and out of awareness. Bond had never been to his apartment before (as far as Q was aware anyway, but he wouldn’t put anything past the agent), and normally Q would be a little embarrassed by the state of it, but when he kicked the door of his threshold open, he found he couldn’t care.

“Bedroom?” Bond asked- clearly not a man to wait around. Q silently beckoned him to follow him to one of the smaller backrooms. If he’d been paying attention to Bond, he would have seen the man curiously poking his head round other doors on their short journey, and trailing his fingers over the spines of books, but he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

Q’s bedroom was uncharacteristically a mess. The bedsheets were crumpled and unmade, pillows were thrown around the room, and various items of clothing were strewn on the floor, covering a worrying amount of wires. A single wilted cactus sat on the windowsill.

“This isn’t what I imagined my first time in your bedroom Q.” Bond whistled from behind him, and Q jumped, momentarily having forgotten that he was there.

“Fuck off.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you swear that bad before.” Bond grinned, and pushed past him into the room. “It must be a special occasion.”

Q glared, and started to try to untie his shoes. He didn’t get far. Bending down caused something in his head to swim, and the next thing he knew he was seeing spots and falling. Large arms caught him before he could hit the floor, and Q groaned as he was heaved back up.

Bond was right there, staring at him like he was a from another planet, and he was _close,_ but Q’s vision was returning to normal, and he was too busy trying not to throw up on what must be expensive shoes to even begin analysing any of this.

“Bond?” He looked up into blue ice, feeling more vulnerable than he had in a while, and it seemed to break some sort of trance over the older man. He nudged Q out of what was dangerously close to becoming an embrace, and placed him to the side.

It was like walking into his room had put a spell on him to make him feel more tired. The sight and touch of his bed had lifted his previous crankiness, and just left him aching for rest. Or maybe that was just Bond and his excessive use of physical contact.

Q watched with dreary eyes as Bond made his bed for him, and then padded over with his arms out stretched. He led Q to the bed, sat him down, and then untied his shoes for him. Bond hooked his fingers under the heel, and pulled them off, and Q sighed at that all too good feeling of exposed feet. He then undid Q’s tie, ignoring protesting hands with little trouble, and Q wanted to moan at the relief it granted from his neck. 

“Get changed. I can turn around if you want.” 

Q nodded, muttering something incoherent about 00 agents having nothing better to do, and after some more cursing, managed to get his shirt off.

He found an old green shirt on the floor with some cat picture on it, and pulled it over his head.

“Okay,” he said.

Bond turned back around, and smiled.

“I’m going to give you a heavy dose of this sedative,” he pulled something out of his pocket, a small case Q realised. “It should last about ten hours. It’s very strong, so you will likely feel sleepy even after waking up.” While he was explaining all this, Bond had opened the case, and produced a small tube, and a syringe. Q was afraid of planes, but not needles, and he could feel his childhood pride at this coming back. He had always been first to get his injections. Maybe Bond would be impressed.

Something rational in him scoffed- as if. He really _must_ be sleep deprived if he hoped _that_.

“Just get it in me Bond.” Q drowsily whispered.

The agent complied, filling the syringe, and holding his hand out for Q’s arm. Q gave it willingly, and- well, if he leant into the touch and warmth radiating from Bond’s hands as he found a vein, that was hardly his fault.

Q shivered as he felt the needle penetrate his skin, and empty the cold drug into his blood. Bond dabbed the spot with a cloth, presumably also from the package, and smiled encouragingly. Q could practically feel it start to circulate his system, and _wow this stuff acted quickly._ He flopped further down onto the bed, and managed a soft ‘thankyou’ before he collapsed, body finally locked in rest. He was dead to the world within seconds.

xX------------------------Xx

Ten hours and forty-three minutes later, Q opened his eyes. He snuffled, and buried further under warm covers, that for once, weren’t drenched in sweat. The sedative was still very much in his system, slowing his awakening thoughts drastically. Everything seemed unimportant, and hazy, the overwhelming urge to sleep soon dragging him back under.

Q cruised this semi-conscious sea for what must have been two or so hours, slipping in and out of heavy, then light sleep, until finally, he felt his senses coming back to him.

The first thing he became aware of was of the darkness that had had coated the room. Street and starlight filtered through the small gap where curtains didn’t quite meet, and Q steadily propped himself up onto his elbows to get a better view. The outside roads were uncharacteristically empty (or as empty as near central London can ever be), telling him that it was either vey late or night, or early morning.

He swung unshaking, stronger legs over the bed, and slipped up off the bed, and onto the floor. A floor he realised, that was considerably tidier. Save for the many cords and cables he had on the floor, the clothing, pillows and numerous other items had been neatly folded and placed in the corner. It took a second (his systems _were_ still rebooting after all), but realisation struck, and with horror, he determined that it had to be 007.

Bond!

Everything came flushing back, all to quickly, and Q had to stop himself from gasping out. Oh God, this was no good at all! How _on Earth_ had he allowed himself to be so open, so fucking _pliant_ under 007’s gaze? He would _never_ live this out.

Q rubbed his hands over his eyes, and groaned loudly.

Was the blasted man still here?

Jesus Christ- he hoped not- he really hoped not.

Cautiously, making sure he was as light on his feet as he could be, Q turned his bedroom doorknob, and ventured out into the hallway. All was dark. It was silent too, save for one of his cats snoring lightly. He flicked on the light, half expecting Bond to be there, leaning on a counter. But no.

Q didn’t know if the sigh that escaped him was one of relief or disappointment. Relief. Definitely relief.

It didn’t take long to notice that the main room (a lounge and a kitchen in one) had been tidied drastically too. Pots and pans previously left dumped in the sink had been washed and stacked, plants obviously watered and mugs placed back into cupboards. Q wanted to die with shame, why Bond had done this he didn’t know, it was all too much. He’d never be able to look the man in the eyes again, that was for sure.

He glanced at the electric clock on the oven; twenty past three in the morning. Christ.

He wandered to the (poorly stocked) fridge, planning to make tea, but only when he was half way there did he see it. There was a note pinned in-between all the other crap slapped on it (shopping lists, pictures of his cats, and a rather embarrassing photo of him at sixteen with a friend) and Q had to squint without his glasses, but he just managed to read it. 

_Q,_

_Come find me if you need more drugs. M said no work tomorrow for you, stay home if you want to keep your job._

_You look cute when you’re asleep. Maybe consider it more often?_

Q just stared at it for a solid minute.

Bond’s handwriting was weird. Long, and oddly elegant. There was even the odd loop. It seemed very unlike him, but then Q remembered that while he had read Bond’s files over a hundred times, he didn’t know the man.

The note seemed very intimate. Q had to hold back the urge to hug it to his chest (what was he? Twelve?), if purely to keep his own since of dignity. Bond had called him _cute._

He had before of course. 007 flirted non-stop over coms, everything from light innuendos, to straight up telling Q things which _should not be repeated,_ but that was different. Bond flirted with everyone, and it wasn’t like he was ever face to face when he did it with Q. Thank God, because knew that he'd have trouble acting normal to it.

Now- now Q had something solid. Something in written form.

Choosing to ignore the insinuation that Bond had watched him sleeping (was that creepy? It felt like it should be…) Q folded the note, and carefully hid it in a copy of one of his university textbooks on his self. That was one book he couldn’t imagine anyone reading in a hurry, especially Bond. 

God it was going to be bad when he next saw him.

Q was rather unsure what to do with himself at first. He was left standing in the middle of the room, with his hands bawling up in his pyjama shorts, trying not to think. He was answered though by a large yawn escaping from his lips. It seemed he was still tired.

Well, it wasn’t like he had work the next day anymore. Q guessed he could treat himself to a little more sleep. So, after a huge mug of tea, he returned to bed, and slept again easily, aided by the remains of Bond’s drug.

xX------------------------Xx

Chaos returned all too quickly. The drug only lasted for a good day or two, soon bleeding out of his system. The dreams (if they could even be called that) came back with a bite as harsh as their bark, and would leave Q in a delirious, shaking state when he woke. They were growing darker with every night that drew on, the sunrise setting over that mirrored plane slow but sure. Q was unsure as to what would come when night did eventually lick up the last shreds of light, but he knew with absolute clarity it would not be anything pleasant.

Unsurprisingly, Bond had been out of the country again the week before, on some assignment in Connecticut, so Q had been left stranded. Not that he was sure he could face seeing the older man after all that had happened.

Q branch was manic, but then wasn’t it always. He had multiple missions, catch up work from his afternoon and day off, meetings where he got shouted at by accounting, meetings where _he_ shouted at his agents, and on top of it all, his photocopier broke. For the fifth time that month. No amount of fixing and kicking it never seemed to ever make a difference with that blasted thing…

One positive though, amidst all this absolute fevered _mess_ , was that he’d done a great job of avoiding Bond since he’d returned from America. Whenever he had even caught a whiff of that distinct expensive cologne, or a flash of blond hair, he was u-turning and retreating as fast as he could without looking suspicious.

It was stupid.

Of course it was. But Q knew nothing but the urge to hide and run.

And that was why he wasn’t a field agent.

However, his ‘tactical retreat’ was put to a rather abrupt stop one late evening when Tanner approached him with a grimace and a clipboard. Q had had his feet up on his desk at the time, glasses sliding down his nose and half asleep.

Tanner cleared his throat, and Q glared at him as he opened his eyes.

“Quatermaster?” He at least looked apologetic when he spoke. “M wants you. Now.”

“Christ.”

And so, Q reluctantly kicked his shoes off the desk and followed him to M’s office with only mild protest. When Tanner pushed open the door for him, he wasn’t at all surprised to see Bond sat in there too. The pair of them were probably in there for yet another telling off. This time though, Q couldn’t think of anything he’d actually done wrong. Not from the past week anyway.

“Quatermaster.” M greeted. He hadn’t even bothered to stand up as he beckoned to the other chair placed in front of his huge desk, and he had his top button un done. Not a telling off then if he was this casual. Thank fuck for that.

“Thankyou Sir.” Q said as he sat. He made a very big effort not to look at Bond, who was inches away. He was sure he was bathed in the glorious golden evening sunlight that was splicing through the large windows that overlooked London. He probably looked gorgeous, and that wouldn’t help the already steaming embarrassment he felt.

“Right.” M tapped a worryingly thick stack of paperwork on his desk. “Job for you two.”

Q tried not to audibly groan. He had enough going on damnit!

“How would you feel about a trip to Paris, Q?”

“Sir?” Q cocked his head.

“As you know, Agent 56 has recently been in Europe, and he had some rather sensitive information passed to him.”

“Yes….”

“Well he felt he couldn’t keep a hold of it- so while he was in Paris, he dropped it off at the UK embassy. Normally I’d send someone else to get it- but he said he hid it in the online servers there- the servers _you_ designed. This information is very very important, and I don’t want to trust anyone else with it. So- “He gestured towards Q’s general person.

“Usually I’d be putting you on a plane, how would you feel about that?” M asked.

“Not happy,” was his instantaneous response. This was true. Q hated planes, there was no way in living _hell_ he would be getting on one- state secrets or not.

“I thought as much.” M nodded. “That’s why Bond will be driving you, he actually volunteered for this assignment. That’s nice- in company friendship and all that.”

Q's eyebrows raised far into his dark hairline.

Bond had _volunteered?????_

_Why_?

“So, you’ll be leaving for Paris at five am tomorrow. I’ve emailed the full brief and dossier to you. I don’t need to say that this will be a _safe_ assignment- “He eyed Bond viciously. “So, there will be no gunfire of any sorts. Any questions?”

Yes. Q had many questions- all concerning the blue-eyed man sat next to him, but decided it was just better to clamp shut and settle with a muffled ‘no’.

“Good. Dismissed. Have a good trip you two. Especially you Q- you’re always working, enjoy it.” M waved them off, and so Q collected his parka jacket from the back of the floor, his sactual, and went to disappear before Bond could get to him.

He wasn’t fast enough, because a large, warm hand snatched his wrist as soon as the office door clicked shut behind him. Q huffed, and turned.

Of course, Q had been right before, the golden evening light only made Bond look like he was glowing more than usual.

“007 let go.” Q tried to shake him off, but he full well knew that if Bond didn’t want to let go, he wouldn’t. He could probably snap Q’s entire wrist with no issue at all if he felt like it.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t.”

“Lying doesn’t look good on you Q.”

“And rudeness doesn’t on _you_ but here we are.” Q spat. “Get the Hell off!”

Bond did as was told, and held his hands in the air in mock surrender.

“Someone’s not happy.” He teased, trailing after Q with long easy steps when he tried to escape to the lifts. “And after I helped you to bed the other day too. So unappreciated.”

Q just glared and banged the lift button with his fist as hard as he could, causing his sactual to fall of his shoulder slightly.

“Oh, cheer up Q.” Bond continued, obviously not deterred by any look. “It’ll be fun.”

“We have very different definitions of fun.” Q sniffed, and stepped aside to let Bond into the lift first. He followed suit after, and then the doors closed.

It was blissfully silent for all of two seconds.

“How’s the sleep been?”

“Good.” Q lied- _again_.

“The bags under your eyes say otherwise.”

Q huffed, and his long fringe caught on the draft of air ever so slightly. He was about to make a rather in-polite remark, but the lift doors pinged open. Surprisingly, not to reveal the foyer in the main entrance, but the Q branch security entrance (all levels had a security system one had to get through before they reached the main departments- and while it slowed down the journey home, they did make the building more secure)

Q wondered if in his delirium, he had pressed the wrong button. But Bond sauntered out, and made a B-line straight through security towards R+D.

“Bond?”

Q hastily followed after him, even his long legs struggling to keep up with the agent’s impressive stride.

“What’s going on? You aren’t allowed to be here. We’re meant to be going home!”

“We’re leaving now.” Bond replied, and he punched in the three key codes (which he definitely should _not_ know) to one of the many weapons storage facilities.

“Now?”

“You heard me the first time I believe. If we leave now, we can get there at about uhhhhh-“ Bond paused mid speech to glance down at his expensive Q-branch modified watch, “Ten o’clock. Our time of course.

And I can make sure you get a decent night’s sleep for once.” He turned, and went back to rummaging through the cases of complex killing machines as though they were magazines in a dentist’s waiting room.

“But Mallory-“ Q interjected.

“He won’t care. Means a quicker job done and I’ve done it before. C’mon Q- get the passports.”

Q hummed. 007 knew how to tempt him- a good night’s sleep was as good as bait came these days. And it would save the five am start… Q was not a morning person.

“Fine.” He agreed. “But you’re driving and I’m picking the music.”

Forty minutes later, and they were pulling onto the M25 in a fresh off the line BMW. Black of course, and fitted with the best Q branch had to offer. If anything- it was a little over qualified for the ‘low risk’ assignment this was- but if it was _accidently_ mixed up with the rather rusty looking Jag next to it- that was hardly Q’s fault.

They had quickly stopped at Q’s flat so that he could feed his cats, and chuck the cleanest clothes and a whole spaghetti of charging cables into a bag. Bond apparently always had a bag at MI6, full of everything needed for last minute trips. Q wondered if he had a suit presser in there- or a portable ironing board. He thought he’d seen one on Top Gear once.

True to his threats, Q did choose the music. Bond threw him a few questioning glances as his Spotify playlists ran through, but otherwise left him in peace as they drove to Dover. The sun set as they went, casting long, elegant and dramatic shapes over James’s face, and Q had to pull away from staring for than once. Sometimes, in moments like this, he looked more familiar than Q could explain. Like a friend from a past life.

He shook his head. It was the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t long before signs for the Euro-Tunnel began to crop up. England was a small country after all, and it was never too far from A to B. Q pulled out his laptop, and using the MI6 credit card he had been issued with for situations such as this, purchased one ticket for the car.

This was a whole new situation for Q to be honest. Yes- part of mandatory training was for field word- he was a chief executive after all, he had to have _some_ experience. But this- with Bond- was different. Q had been on two such assignments before (not with Bond), and while they had both gone completely fine, he had long since decided he preferred his life behind the eight stages of security it took to get to his office.

“Lost in thought?” Bond queered, steering Q away from his thoughts.

“I guess.” Q looked away from the speeding landscape outside and across to 007. He was giving him a small smile, and really not paying much attention to the road. And Q wondered how he crashed so many cars…..

“Anything interesting?” 

The intensity of the stare made Q look back out the window. He shrugged.

“Just wondering why you volunteered for this job. It’s not going to be exciting. Far from the usual guns and explosions.” Q mimicked pulling a trigger with his hands, always one to gesture when nervous or excited.

“Maybe I just liked the company?”

Q scoffed.

“No- try again 007.”

Bond was silent for a few seconds- contemplating his answer.

“You always look after us. And I know you haven’t been well recently. This is the least I could do.”

He made eye contact with Q in the rear-view mirror. His eyes contrasted wonderfully with the darkening sunset; Q would know- he’d done colour theory in his school art classes.

“Oh.” He tried not to blush. “Thankyou.”

“You can thank me after. Not over yet Q.” Bond said in a rather unreadable tone. Maybe annoyance? Or concern? The two looked so similar on him sometimes.

The Eurostar was no issue, and neither was the remaining drive to Paris, thanks to some small interventions with the traffic on Q’s behalf. It was mostly silent, Q would hum along to some songs and Bond would tut at others, but apart from the passport security at the border, it was fairly peaceful. Q was used to staying up late- part of the job- but he was struggling to keep his eyes open when they were nearing the end of the journey. Only the knowledge of the dreams that would come immediately after stopped him from giving in.

The bright, orange glow of Paris yanked him out of his dreary state. A city so different from the warm arms of London, but fascinating to watch none the less. Bond seemed to know this city just as well as his own, and he took Q down all the backstreets, presumably to avoid main traffic. Q was glad, the architecture (something he was very much fascinated and interested in) was lovely, all brightened by fairy lights hanging between houses.

“Have you been to Paris before?” Bond asked- noticing Q gazing with wide eyes out the window.

“A couple of times as a kid. We had school tips- and exchanges, all that malarkey. They weren’t bad, but I never got to see what I wanted to, you know. And now- well- I don’t have the time for holidays.” 

“Shame.”

Q sighed.

“Price of the job.”

The hotel was a five star one named simply ‘ _Bratch’_ \- Q didn’t expect anything less with Bond. They pulled up for valet, and Q marvelled at the outside of the hotel. It looked a good mix between fancy and homely, with warm lighting, long plants and impressive brickwork, something he could get behind. Rather embarrassingly, he was so busy oogling it, he nearly fell out of the car, when the door was opened for him, his long legs tripping over his sactual bag. Bond sprang over (bloody gazelle that he was) and managed to stop Q falling flat on his face by grabbing his arm, but Q still glared. 007 just laughed.

“Bed time for you I think.” He chuckled, his eyes creasing with humour. Now how could Q glare at that? It wasn’t _fair._

“I’m not a child.”

They walked through the revolving doors, and into the reception, which was equally as impressive as the outside. Q felt very underdressed in his simple parka, turtle neck and trousers, but Bond fitted right in. Q ran a hand through his hair in attempt to make himself look somewhat presentable.

Q checked them both in, his French the better of the two (though not by much), and he gawked when he found they were sharing a room. He spun on his heels, and waved the key card in Bond’s face.

“What’s this?”

“A room key.”

“I know that _smart arse._ Why are we sharing a room?”

The agent just rolled his eyes, and directed Q away from the reception towards the lifts with a warm hand on his back. Q knew it was warm because he could feel the heat even through all his layers.

“Q, you are one of the most valuable people working in MI6. Do you really think that you’d be allowed your own room in a foreign country without protection?”

Well- when he put it like that…..

“So, stop getting your knickers in a twist. It’s not like we’ll be sharing a bed.”

Bond threw Q a _very_ suggestive wink as he said this, and Q screwed his nose up. (No- his ears _did not_ go pink. Stop asking.)

The room was just as lovely as everything else. Spacious and comfy, it looked ever so inviting after the long day. It was rather oddly decorated, mirrors mounted on too many walls, bookcases with expensive looking pieces of art propped up against them, and white strips of linen hanging from the door frames.

There were two double beds pushed against the back wall, and Q dumped his sactual down on the one of his choosing. Their bags were propped up against the wall, hauled up by valet already. Bond threw Q his, and carried his own over to the other bed.

“Shouldn’t we check in with Q-branch to say we’re here?” Q asked while he toed off his shoes.

Bond snorted, and Q watched with slight fascination as he shrugged off his jacket. He was wearing a _very_ tight fitted shirt (not like the comfy, roomy ones Q wore), and black braces. A sight indeed…. If he hadn’t been as near to the same state of exhaustion as he had the other day, he would have shown even more interest. He was for once, thankful for his lack of sleep.

“Q when have I _ever_ checked in?”

“Um-“

“You can do it if you really want- I’m having a shower.” 007 waved off non-committedly, before exiting the room to the bathroom. The light was switched on, and the door shut.

Because Q actually liked to follow rules and keep his job ( _unlike some_ ), he did check in. It only took a few minutes, just a simple text, and after that he went and secured his phone and laptop in the provided safe. Not long after that he heard the shower turn on.

The room had warm, low levelled lighting, and really, that was all it took for Q to start to find his eyelids drooping. It once again had been so long since he had slept, decently, and despite the many polls that claimed otherwise, he _was_ human.

Logically, Q knew it would useless- he had to wait for Bond to come back and drug him up again. But _God_.

The bed looked _so_ comfy.

And really, what harm could five minutes do? Just to pass the time until 007 got back. He’d just test out the bed- make sure it was up to the five-star rating it bragged.

So, he discarded his coat and shirt, layering them on the back of the chair, and kicked off his trousers. Then he quickly drearily padded to the bed, and once he had wrestled with the duvet (why on Earth did the hotel cleaners tuck it in _so damn tightly?_ ) slipped under.

He smiled to himself. It was good- certainly better than his worn bed at home, and it only took seconds for him to nod off……

And seconds later he was falling again.

Falling

down

down

down….

xX------------------------Xx

“Q!”

“Q! Wake up!”

Something was shaking him, and he moaned loudly.

“Snap out of it!”

Q’s eyes burst open, and with a loud gasp he grasped onto the thing touching him. He needed to get it off, he needed to-

“Whoa, whoa. It’s just me. Only me.”

Q frowned, confused, but he looked, trying hard to focus his eyes, and found James Bond hovering above him. At least he thought it was him- he was just out of Q’s focus distance. Just.

“ _James?_ ”

“It’s just me Q. Calm down. Here.” Something was pressed into his shaking hands, and Q’s subconscious pushed them onto his face.

Ah. Glasses.

And _oh_ , Q must be still dreaming, because James was shirtless, damp, and inches away from his face. His eyes were so blue they could cut through diamonds, and his hair was still wet and dripping- dripping directly onto Q’s cheeks. He flicked his tongue out to catch the water- but found it salted.

He must have been crying.

He realised then what was going on, his system having finally properly rebooted. 007 had caught him having one of his episodes! In nothing but his pants too! Why had he ever thought it would be a good idea to sleep? He yelped slightly and shot back up the bed as far away from Bond as he could, hitting his head badly on the headboard as he went. He gasped, and then winced.

“God, I’m- I’m so sorry.” He stuttered, rubbing his whacked head. It really did hurt. “I really am. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Hey.” Bond had moved from the end of the bed and out of Q’s space, and was standing in the middle of the room. He didn’t look out of place at all, despite only wearing a towel which was wrapped around his waist and dripping everywhere. Q knew that if it was him, he’d just stand there shivering and trying to shrink in on himself.  
“It’s okay. It’s why I’m here.” Bond cocked his blond head slightly. “Your head okay?”

“Yeah- just a whack…”

“Can I see?”

“It’s fine 007- really.”

But Bond was already walking back over, his shoulders dropped, and his head bowed slightly in a submissive, calming manner. He held his arm out, and so Q scooted round, and ducked his head so Bond could look.

Bond lent over, and Q tried not to be bothered by how close he was (he could feel the _warmth_ radiating off him for Christ’s sake).

“Can I-“

Q nodded, and gently, Bond reached forward and touched his head.

Bond parted his hair, and boy, Q was glad he’d washed it the day before. If it wasn’t for the pain, he would have enjoyed this immensely, but even as it was, it still felt a little good.

It really wasn’t fair. Here was Bond- half naked and fresh out of one of Q’s fantasies, and Q had made nothing but a huge embarrassment of himself.

“Well, you’re bleeding, but only a tiny bit.” Bond muttered, parting Q’s hair again presumably to get a better look. “You’ll need to wash it- but you’ll live.”

“Shame.” Q joked, and as Bond pulled his hand from Q’s hair, he turned around. Bond was knelt on the bed, only about two handspans away, and Q felt his ears grow pink.

“Do you want me to do it?” Bond asked.

“Huh?” Q was too busy trying (and failing) not to stare.

“Cleaning your head?”

Q blinked forcibly, and mentally slapped himself. He needed to _get it together!_

“No- I’ve seen your dental floss stitching in the past Bond- I don’t think I’d trust you with my head as far as I could throw you.” He grinned, but maybe it’d come out wrong because for a second something odd flashed across Bond’s face.

“But thankyou regardless.” He quickly tapped on.

Q stood, mindful he was only in his underwear, and scurried off to the bathroom as quick as he could.

The bathroom was still full of steam from Bond’s shower, and Q dumped his head in the sink, careful not to further whack it on the taps, and cleaned where it hurt the most. He acted on autopilot, his mind whirring at four hundred miles an hour trying it’s hardest to analyse all that had just happened. Curse Mallory and his intent to send Q on this blasted assignment.

Once done, Q stood up, and scrubbed any light traces of crimson out of the sink. He caught his reflection in the mirror twice, and wrinkled his nose. His hair was messier than usual, what wasn’t wet was sticking out all over the place, and the sheen of dried sweat could be seen on his skin. How _utterly_ attractive.

“Q?” Bond was knocking on the door. “You alright? I have the drugs here if you still want them.”

Q warily turned around and opened it. Bond was dressed now- not in pyjamas, (Q thought that he’d have a stroke if he was) but in large sweatpants and a grey t-shirt. It was an unusual sight, but by means not a displeasing one.

“Please.” Q held his hand out, and turned the bathroom light off with the other.

Bond placed a packet into his hand.  
“We need to be up early, so the dose isn’t as strong as last time. Just a mild sedative- hence the tablets.” Bond stepped back, and blinked expectantly.

Q turned the packet over in his hands, and shook out the metallic packaging.

“Lovely.” 

He wasted no time popping two out and downing them dry, he wanted to get away from this mess as soon as he could.

Cautiously, he then padded back to his bed, and after trying to pull the sheets into some form of neat, buried back underneath them. Bond had turned off the light at some point during all of this, and had migrated over to his bed.

It was silent save for the loud hotel air-con for a few minutes, and Q waited for the tablets to kick in.

“Q- it’s okay you know.” Bond quietly said. His voice was lower than usual- he must have been lying on his back. “This sleep thing. I don’t mind.”

“It’s embarrassing 007.”

“It’s not. I have nightmares all the time, and Alec has had to slap me multiple times to wake me up. It happens to all of us.”

“I guess.”

“Well I’m just telling you that I don’t mind.”

Q smiled to himself in the dark. It was times like these, when the double O façade fell away and the sweeter man beneath was more willing to show himself, Q found himself falling further.

“Thankyou. That means a lot.”

And in the darkness, he didn’t feel so alone.

xX------------------------Xx

The next day dawned bright and early, and Q was up with it. He was washed and dressed by eight, and making his way down to the dining area of the hotel to try and sniff out Bond and breakfast. He had indeed, slept brilliantly, and Q was in a far better mood because of it.

The dining area was just as fancy as the rest of the hotel, following through in the same style as their bedrooms and the reception. A grand buffet was spread out, and it didn’t take long to spy 007 sat at the bar, looking at his phone and absently crunching on toast. Q strolled up to him.

“Up already Q?” He said as he looked up from his phone.

“Drinking already Bond?” Q teased, nodding towards the pint of something Bond was nursing.

“A man needs his fuel.”

“I’m sure. Get a table. I’m getting food.”

Q sauntered off, and inspected the food displayed. There was everything, meats, cheeses, fruits Q had never even seen before, pastries, pancakes, and loads more. It put any knockoff Harvester breakfast Q had had to shame.

He loaded up his plate as much as he could without seeming rude, and then weaved his way back to Bond. He was rather touched to find that he’d already brought him tea, as it was sat steaming on the table. Rather ungracefully, Q flopped down, and started to eat as Bond ran through the itinerary of the day.

All in all, the assignment sounded easy enough. All they had to do was go to the UK embassy pretending to ask about a passport issue, and get to a computer. They couldn’t just walk in and show MI6 credentials, because as convenient as that would be, it would also jeopardise Q’s own person. So, they had to _sneak_ the information, which Bond was very excited about. He kept calling it a ‘mission impossible’ and teasing Q in all sorts of ways. He was in a very good mood this morning apparently- because he’d never been this friendly over coms.

Q finally finished up eating, as content as he had been for a while, and reclined into the back of his chair.

“Good breakfast?” Bond asked, changing the subject from the assignment.

“Delicious yes. You didn’t have anything?”

“I’ll eat after Q.” But Bond didn’t seem all that interested in himself. “Do you have food like this at home?”

“Ha!” Q couldn’t help but laugh at Bond’s naivety. “No. I get a Pot-Noodle if I’m lucky.”

“Oh.” Bond considered this. “No holidays- no good food, what a life you lead Q….”

Q shrugged. What could he do? He _loved_ his job- he lived for it, and these were the sacrifices he made for it. Besides- as a child his mother and he had suffered with money more than he would like to admit- so it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it.

“Maybe I could take you out sometimes at home? For dinner every now and again?” Bond asked in a very casual manner, almost _too_ casual.

“That won’t be necessary. I am an adult Bond- I can look after myself.” Q sniffed- but afterwards gave a shy smile. “Thank you anyway.”

It was silent after that, only half way uncomfortable, as Q finished his tea. It was a good cup, and Q wondered how Bond had known how to make it just as he liked it. After that they went back to the room.

Of course, one couldn’t just walk into the embassy wearing a six grand Armani suit if they wanted to avoid raising too much attention, so Bond had to change. Q sniggered while he watched Bond undo his cufflinks- as someone who had only ever seen the man in pristine condition in any work environment, it was quite funny. Q didn’t have to change- his simple shirt and waterproof jacket did him fine.

Bond insisted on running through the plan _again_ as he changed.

“I know Bond. You don’t have to go through it four times.” Q moaned. He was lying on his back on the bed as he waited, feet dangling off the edge. It was a good position, as it allowed him to side glance 007 without being too noticeable about it.

“Am I going to have to put up with your mood all day?” Bond was on his waistcoat now, undoing it with meticulous and long fingers.

“I’m a fucking delight and don’t you forget it.” Q snapped.

Bond laughed at that- properly throwing his head back and cackling, and _damn, this was a good position_ , because Q’s view couldn’t have been better. Bond’s eyes squinted, and his smile was wide, and his chest heaved in delight. Q smiled possessively- _he_ had made that reaction- not some young, long legged, pretty little thing. A warm glow blossomed and bred in his chest, and he caught the feeling, and locked it away to enjoy later.

“Wouldn’t dream it for a second.” Bond huffed between spurts of dying chuckles, and as he undid his tie he turned and smiled down at Q, who was still sprawled against the bed. It must have been the light- but the look in his eyes almost appeared wantful.

Bond stared at Q, and Q stared back. For once, there was no challenge, no scrap over who was holding the power, but rather just silence. It only lasted a few seconds though, before Bond broke eye-contact, turned, and carried on dressing.

xX------------------------Xx

Finally, they left the hotel about half nine. Q had his USB ready in his coat pocket, and Bond had the fake passports tucked in the waistband of his trousers under his shirt. In the end he’d pulled on an old blue jumper that really looked like it’d seen better days, a plain shirt, and a very well-fitting pair of cargo trousers. Q had marvelled at the number of pockets in them, and the snug fit they gave his ass.

They were currently in the car on the way to the embassy, and rather unavoidably stuck in traffic. Q had opted to drive for once- partly to prove after all the jokes that ‘ _yes, he was old enough to do it_ ’, and also because he felt a bit bad for making Bond drive all the way yesterday. Not only that, but Q was a good driver- a damn good one in fact. Not that he could really show that off in a traffic jam the size of Whales.

“Excited Q?” Bond asked, staring at the car in front. He had donned a flashy pair of sunglasses, though why Q wasn’t too sure. It wasn’t even that sunny…..

“I mean- no?” Q switched the gear stick, and moved forward all of about three inches. “All I have to do is download content, and then decrypt it.”

“You’re so boring.” Bond said. “Just like this traffic jam.”

Q shrugged, it wasn’t his fault Bond had the attention span of a four-year-old.

“How did you sleep though? I couldn’t help but notice you seemed as dead as a log.”

If Q was touched at the question- he didn’t let it show.

“Good actually. I don’t know what’s in those drugs, but they definitely do the trick…” Q smiled.

“And your head?”

“Fine as well.”

“Can I see?”

“Unless you haven’t noticed Bond- I’m driving.”

“But you aren’t. We’re stationary. We’ve moved six inches in the past ten minutes. Come ’ere.”

Q shuffled. Not reluctantly- because this was Bond, but not impressed none the less. Bond ran his hands through Q’s hair to find the spot, and carefully placed his hand at the nape of his neck to steady him. Q absently thought how the very spot Bond’s hands were touching were the most vulnerable part of the human body.

“Hm. Seems okay.” The agent mumbled, and then patted Q on the top of his head to signal he was done.

“I told you.”

“Can’t ever be too careful Q.”

Q wiggled back into the seat, and prepared to move another five centimetres forward.

It took them a whole damn forty minutes to make it to the embassy, a journey which really should have only taken about ten. But, it was rush hour, and Q was used to it.

The British embassy looked really rather grand, and Q stood for a second to admire the architecture before following Bond up the stairs. The car had been parked a street or so away, and they had walked the last distance in companionable silence. Q’s eyes had gravitated towards Bond’s arse once or twice- how could he not when the blonde was wearing those trousers- but otherwise it had been uneventful.

Q couldn’t have been happier to get out of his office. Despite his originally hesitancy to leave and go on this trip, he found now he had gotten over his initial grouchiness because he was starting to enjoy this small adventure rather immensely. If he ever ran into the agent who left the information here, he’d have to buy him a bottle of wine.

The first point of call was getting through the security checks and metal detectors, but really, these posed no issue for either Bond or Q. Q had nothing to hide, and had a long time ago developed weapons out of carbon fibre. Carbon fibre didn’t go off in metal detectors, and so Bond walked into the embassy with no less than four knives, and three guns hidden somewhere on his person. They exchanged a small smirk as they sat on the benches tying up their shoe laces again, and Q felt a small spike of adrenalin knowing they’d managed it with no issue at all.

The receptionist at the help desk could not have been more perfect for the job. She looked young, and had long auburn hair that fell in slight waves in front of her ears. Green eyes gleamed in the impressive chandelier light. While she wasn’t blond, and her height had somewhat to be desired, it was obvious she would take to Bond’s charm like a fish to water.

Q stayed relatively quiet as Bond flirted his way in through the plan, his hands drooping lazily over the front of the desk as he talked.

“So, what I’m saying is-“ He drawled, “I need you to go and check for us. Could you do that?”

Q tried not to roll his eyes.

“I’m sure I could sir.” She beamed, clearly excited at a chance to impress with the very complicated task Bond had given her. Q almost felt sorry for the girl- even he could tell that while she was pretty, she didn’t get charmed often.

And so, she scuttled off, leaving the large mac (newest version too- Q was impressed) unattended.

Q double checked nobody was looking- and inched round. Luckily, the desk it was sat on was very high, and if he squatted, and typed with his arms extended, he wouldn’t be seen by anyone. He clipped the pen stick in the back after fuddling trying to find which way it went in, and got to work.

Bond was still draped over the desk, and he smirked down at the squatting Q clearly finding his position funny. This coding was easy, so Q didn’t even have to look at the keyboard as he stuck his tongue out back. Bond huffed a small laugh.

The embassy’s computers all ran off the same system- so a key to one was a key to others. It made processing data far easier for those who worked there, and was actually a good system. If it weren’t for the slight compromise in security, Q would have considered it for his branch.

Once Q had downloaded all he needed to find the file, he ejected the pen stick, and placed it back into his pocket.

“Easy.” He grinned.

“That’s ‘coz you’re a nerd.” Bond sniggered, and Q frowned and whacked him lightly with his arm.

They had to wait another few minutes for the girl to return, but return she did. She gave a shy smile to Bond as she passed over the paperwork he’d asked for. Bond winked back, and she blushed furiously.

“I don’t suppose your busy tonight sir?” She asked, and Q had to command her bravery. He’d known Bond for nearly two years, and hadn’t had the courage to ask him out. But he supposed he knew better. She had her hands behind her back, obviously nervously fidgeting.

“I’m afraid I am.” Bond sighed, and placed his hands on his hips.

Q double taked. Since when did James Bond turn down sex? 

“Such a shame, but maybe some other time? Hm?”

The girl didn’t look too deflated, rather, just accepting.

“Yes. Have a good day!”

She gave a tiny wave to them both, even sparing enough attention to smile a little at Q, who nodded his head. Unlike many other of the women Bond had bedded, she actually seemed nice, and Q was at a loss as to why Bond had said no.

They had to go back through security, and again- it went smoothly. They’d made it half of the way back to the car before Q said something.

“Why not?”

“Huh?” 007 turned and looked at him from across the pavement.

“Why not go out with her Bond? I don’t have anything to do this evening, and the assignment’ll definitely be done. I don’t mind if you want to.”

That was a fat lie.

Bond shrugged in a non-committal way, the way he does whenever Q shouts at him for not bringing back tech.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

Q’s eyebrows rose.

“You? Not feeling like sex?”

“Oh, come off it.” Bond sighed. They’d reached the car by now, and Bond opened the driver’s door for Q. “She was a little too young anyway. Poor girl didn’t know what she was signing up for.”

That, Q thought, was especially odd, because to him, the girl had only looked about his age. Bond had slept with women far younger not even three months ago, and Q was wondering why he thought this excuse would be acceptable. But, not wanting to start any more fights- he left it.

While they probably should have gone back to the hotel room to analyse the data, Q drove them to a small café instead. As previously stated, it was a rare day Q left his office for something like a holiday, and he planned to make the most of all of it. The traffic had cleared a lot now, and as such, the ride was far more enjoyable. The car practically glided over the old streets, and Q hummed at how good it felt.

He found somewhere half-decent looking, with a parking spot available, and pulled in. Bond had donned the sunglasses again, and he stepped out the car looking like a supermodel, doubtless to impress the many pretty young things sat on the chairs outside. Q hoisted his laptop case off the backseat and got out himself, then locked the car.

Bond had already precured a table, inside in a corner. The café was nothing out of the ordinary, but small and quaint none the less, with a typical French style in its design. The seats were big and cushy, and Q sank into his gladly. He hadn’t really noticed the rising temperature outside until he had entered into an area of air-conditioning, and he was suddenly very thankful for it.

While he was turning on his laptop, Bond poured over the menu.

“Fancy anything Q?”

“Maybe a cold drink.” He hummed as he typed in his forty-character password.

Bond called over a waiter and ordered, of course- fluently in French.

“With pleasure.” The waited smiled, having finished jotting down the order. “And may I say what a lovely couple you are!”

Q hadn’t been paying attention before, the task of processing the French too much effort while he was focusing on the task at hand, but at the mention of the word ‘couple’, Q’s head whipped up. He mentally backstepped, and quickly translated the sentence fully, and then his eyes widened.

“No, no, no! We’re not a couple!” He said, waving his hands in what he hoped was a calm, controlled manner. Bond it seemed- could only chuckle, apparently finding this _very_ funny, and Q shot him a dirty look.

The waiter visibly cringed, and after making a swift apology, made a rather abrupt departure to the kitchen. Bond was still laughing, and Q swatted at him from across the table. Bond pouted .

“What’s so wrong with being my date Quatermaster?” Bond asked, a huge shark’s grin sliding across his mouth. Q had been on the receiving end of this long enough to know that it was just playful flirting, but still, his heart flooded with gooey warmth.

“I’m not a twenty-year-old millionaire for a start.” He shook his head. “Or a woman.”

“So?”

“So? So, you don’t go for men!” Q explained- exasperated. It was hard admitting this to himself sometimes- let alone out loud.

“How do you know that?”

Q’s mouth fell open slightly, and he fought the urge to cock his head in visible confusion.

_What was going on?_

“I-“ Thankfully- he was cut off by the waiter, who was still blushing in embarrassment from his earlier mistake. The drinks were placed on the table, and Q chose this time to start furiously typing on his laptop- perhaps a bit more violently than he should of. Since _when_ had James Bond, famous womaniser and lover of all girls been into men? On what planet? Maybe he’d been joking? He’d had to have been.

Admittedly, Q was distracted by this new information, so it took him longer than usual to decrypt and get to the data left by the agent. However, the time it took him to do this would still be counted as ‘inhuman’ from any other onlooker. He absently-mindedly drunk the iced tea Bond had ordered him as he went, rather oblivious to the eyes tracking the straw in his mouth. Once he had finished, he saved it to the pen stick, and placed it in his pocket. Then- upon better thought- fished it back out, and placed it onto the table.

“I think you’d be better at looking after this.” He muttered.

“So, you trust me with this but not your head?” Bond asked, but took it anyway.

“The two are entirely different. This is more important.”

“Not to me.” Bond took a sip of his drink, alcoholic- of course. “And not to Mallory either. He threatened me you know. Said if anything happened to you under my care, he’d have my hide.”

Q giggled a little, and found that as always Bond was able to calm him down. Which in this case, was stupid, because it had been the agent who had riled him up in the first place.

“And you’re scared of Mallory?”

Bond sniffed, and lifted his head high.

“Of course not.”

“Hm.”

They sat and finished their drinks, there was no point in wasting them. They chatted about dull, small things like office gossip, and it was nice. However, Q was now painfully aware that this wonderful bubble would soon be popped. While they weren’t due back home in London until the next morning, Q assumed Bond would like to get back as soon as possible. The assignment had been completed, and Bond seemed permanently stuck in the fast lane of life.

He didn’t want this to end. All of it was perfect, and Q felt spoilt with how well it had all turned out for him (disregarding the incident the previous night). He was very reluctant to go back to his desk, and everything that he knew would come with it.

Maybe he should request holidays more.

“When’ll we be leaving then?” Q asked as they gathered their stuff to leave. No point prolonging the inevitable. Q noticed Bond had left more than enough Euros on the table to ease the waiter’s worry, and Q smiled to himself at the thoughtful gesture.

Bond looked over to him as they made their way out.

“You want to go home?”

“No!” Q couldn’t stop himself from saying. “Well, that is, not yet. If that’s okay with you.”

Bond raised an eyebrow.

“I’m enjoying all this if I’m honest. Thankyou-“ He interjected as Bond opened the door for him, “and, well, I’d like to make the most of it.”

“So, you admit that you were wrong?”

“About what?”

“Yesterday I distinctly remember you saying that this was going to be ‘no fun’.” Bond smiled, clearly proud at himself. “Maybe field work _is_ for you Quatermaster.”

“You can piss off if you’re going to make comments like that 007.”

Q stuck his nose in the air and yanked the car door open.

“So, what do you want to do? If we were to stay?” Bond asked after closing his own car door.

That was something Q hadn’t thought about. He also didn’t want too look eager either, so he just shrugged.

“Well I know this place pretty well. I could give you a tour…” Bond Suggested. “Since you said you’ve only ever been here on school trips.”

Q ignored the dig at his age, and turned the offer over. It certainly seemed acceptable. An evening with James Bond- in Paris. Yes, that was definitely something he could get behind.

“Okay.”

Bond looked at his watch.

“It may be better if we walk. It won’t be too long before the traffic starts up again, and I don’t have the patience for it.”

“Okay.”

Q smiled at Bond from across the seat, and he earnt a fond look back for his efforts.

“So, do you want to go now Q or…” Bond gestured outside with his head.

“Yes. Yes of course.”

Q scrambled back out the bloody car, and after slinging his laptop case over his shoulder (because there was no chance he was leaving that) and the keys into his pocket, ran a hand through his hair. It was getting really rather humid.

And so, they walked. In silence at first, with Q too busy marvelling at all the architecture and culture to talk. The streets were busy, just as they were in London, with beautiful people of every colour, cut and character passing them. Friends laughed and chatted, mothers walked hand in hand with children, and people in suits that were just as expensive looking as Bond’s rushing along. Q wondered if they would stop and stare if they knew who they really were. If they knew what their combined kill count was.

He shook his head.

There was no reason for this, he was off work now.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“Well, I thought I could take you around some of the different neighbourhoods. The main attractions will be just packed, and I know that you’re interested in art and architecture. I thought this would be more… up your street.”

Bond’s teeth flashed at his pun, and Q rolled his eyes.

“That’s actually….. a really cool idea.” Q smiled, and tried not to blush.

“Well I hope those long legs of yours are up to the job.”

Q snorted.

“I’m not a God-damn toddler!”

xX------------------------Xx

They walked for a good few hours, first through the district of Le Marais, then Les Halles and finally across the river into the Latin Quarter.

Q wondered at it all, pointing out particularly beautiful things to 007, and taking the time to even snap a few pictures on his phone. While he had never been much of an artist, he thought he may try to draw from them when back home. Who knew- his attention to architectural detail may one day help in his weapon design.

The heat had been steadily getting worse, Q’s jacket was now tied around his waist, and small beads of sweat were trickling down his neck and back. He was used to London and her nearly constant overcast skies, this was a far stretch from that. The air was thick and compact. Just as it was starting to get to the point he was having concerns about his laptop overheating, Q felt a spot of rain on his nose.

He gazed questioningly into the sky, which had turned a sour grey.

“Do you think it’s going to rain?” He asked.

Bond turned from whatever he’d been looking at, and glanced upwards.

“It’s certainly humid enough…”

Q looked back down, and watched as really rather rapidly the pavestones started to darken with the water. He could feel the drops on his head getting heavier, and it wasn’t long before they started to splash onto his glasses lenses and trickle onto his cheeks. He wiped them absentmindedly, and then slid his waterproof around his waist so that it hung over his laptop case. At least that would be protected.

“Let’s get to cover….” Bond suggested. “I think this is one of those flash downpours.”

Now _, those_ Q was used to!

They both carried on down the street, walking just briskly at first, but soon speeding up into a run, and finally a full-on sprint as the Heavens opened above. Bond’s fancy shoes made loud ‘clack, clack, clacks’ as they hit the pavement.

They eventually found some isolated over hanging ledge jutting out of a building, but by this point, the downpour was hysterical in its release. Not for the second time, Q found himself drenched in front of James Bond. At least it was warm, he considered.

They watched in silence for a few seconds at the street, completely different to it state mere seconds ago. Water flooded down the drain slipways and covered every inch in sight. The street lamps had turned on now that it was early evening, and a warm orange glow emitted from each of them, capturing the silver highlights in the rain.

“You aren’t cold are you?” Bond asked.

Q turned to him, and couldn’t help but laugh, the man was soaked through! Not like with the elegance and attraction from yesterday’s shower either- no, he looked like a drowned rat.

Bond narrowed his eyes at him.

“No! No- I’m fine.” Q smiled, broad and toothy in between giggles and rubbing his wet face with his sleeve.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. You should see yourself.”

007’s defensiveness just made Q cackle even more. He tried to come up with an effective and sharp retaliation, but all his mind could process was _happy happy happy happy._

And it was true. Here he was- soaked quite literally through to the skin, lost in a foreign city, with a possibly damaged laptop, and he was the happiest he could ever remember feeling.

Bond eyed him with a curious if not confused look, and then pulled his large battered jumper off. He rung it out, multiple times, and then crowded into Q’s personal space. Before Q had time to react, he had draped it over Q’s head, and was starting to rub his hair with it. It took him several seconds to realise that Bond was drying it. Or at least attempting to. The jumper was damp, disgusting and smelt like rain, but the pressure was good, and the idea was sweet.

Bond stepped back, and admired his handywork. Q’s hair had floofed up, much like an atomic bomb explosion, but, admittedly, it was a lot dryer than before.

Wordlessly, Q took the jumper, and returned the gesture. Bond had to bend down a tiny bit.

What was this?

Something had definitely shifted- that was without a doubt.

But was it an eternal sift?

Was 007 experiencing this elation Q was?

_Did he feel it too?_

It was all too similar to his dreams. He was as Europhobic as he was lost. He was unsure what to do.

“You’re thinking loudly Q…” Bond mumbled, voice muffled by the sound of rain and jumper. “I can hear those cogs turning.”

“I’m unsure….”

_How to phrase it? How to phrase it!!??_

“I’m unsure what…..”

He dropped the jumper, and Bond turned. He gazed at Q; his eyes so blue they were nearly glowing. Q could swear they actually were.

“What Q?”

“I am at a loss on how to say it.”

He flicked his eyes to Bond’s nose- that was easier to concentrate on- he didn’t feel as though he was under a microscope.

“Do you want me to go first?”

Q nodded.

Bond took a deep breath. Q thought he looked like he did before he walked guns blazing into a shoot-out. He opened his mouth, and a few syllables fell out, but, then, he changed his mind, reached across, and kissed Q.

Kissed is such an exaggerated term really. All he did was place his lips on Q’s, softly and thoughtfully. But, when met with no resistance (Q was too busy trying to understand what was happening) he moved closer, rapped his warm arms around Q’s hips, and started to _properly_ kiss Q. Just chastely, almost timidly, but kissing him none the less. Before Q could fully re-boot his system and comprehend what was happening, Bond pulled back.

“Is that what you wanted to say?”

Q just stared with wide eyes. Bond chucked, and pulled him closer , so they were fully embracing.

“I have wanted to do that for a while you know.” He nuzzled Q’s wet hair. His nose, which was colder than expected, drifted over his scalp and neck, careful to avoid the cut. Q had to bite his lip to stop himself from moaning. It had been far too long since physical contact- real contact like this, and it felt _amazing._ After a deep breath, he batted Bond away, and gave him a firm look.

“I’m not just another one of your girls 007.” It hurt to say it out loud, but better it be out now than later. Right? “I’m not just here to be fucked. I’m not a notch in a bedpost or a name in a book.”

“No, Q- look at me. Properly at me. Good. You are more than that. Admittedly, at first, I did just want you for another one-night stand. But-“ He took Q’s hands in his, and pressed them to his chest, where if Q concentrated he would feel his heart beat. “But you’re _so_ _much more_. You’re brilliant, brilliant in ways I didn’t even know existed, and you’re beautiful. You always look after me, no matter how infuriating I am, and you’re always here when I come home. Always. No matter what I do.”

He sighed.

“I don’t think there is much I wouldn’t do for you.”

Q couldn’t believe his ears.

“Bond…”

“Call me James. Please.” He sighed. “Do you want this Q? Do you want it like me?”

“Yes.” Q looked down at his shoes, and chose his words carefully. He had to get this right. “You’re a risk Bond. I’m not going to lie. But…… if you’re telling the truth, well….. then you’re a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I am.”

Q looked back up at Bond, and sought through his eyes. He was trained to notice lying, to recognise manipulation, and neither was there as far as he could see.

He smiled shyly and blushed.

“Okay.” He breathed. “Okay then.”

Bond gave a small smile too, vulnerable and sweet. Q awkwardly rapped hands around 007’s middle, and smiled against cottoned skin as he was pulled closer into a hug. It was wet, and damp and sticky, but it was all Q had ever wanted. James was warm and firm and _real_ against him, and Q was really having issues believing this was all real.

“Should we go back?” A muffled voice from above asked. “We could try room service if you’re hungry.”

“I’m not paying.”

Bond chucked, and Q could feel it as the warm air fell from James’ mouth.

Bond pulled away, but not before bending down slightly and placing another lingering kiss on Q’s cold lips. He tasted like rain, glory, sunlight and _home._ Q shivered- not from the cold but something else, something far warmer and more pleasant, but before the kiss could develop further Bond pulled back.

They just stared at each other for a second, smiling, before James motioned with his head to back out in the street. If it were possible the rain had gotten worse. The noise was incredible- it was a lucky thing James was so close to Q, or his voice would be carried away in the storm drains.

“Feel like braving that?”

Q squeezed Bond’s hand tight in his own.

“Maybe with you.”

They walked back out into the rain hand in hand, with Bond holding his jumper over their heads to attempt at some protection. The street was deserted, and their laughter filled every corner of it as they splashed their way back towards the car.

xX------------------------Xx

Driving back to the hotel took longer than it should have, as Q couldn’t help but kiss James senseless as soon as they were sat back in the BMW. They held hands for most of the way back, only ever breaking for James to change gear or beep impatiently at the driver in front. At one memorable set of traffic lights, he’d taken Q’s hand and pressed light kisses to each of the knuckles.

“Beautiful hands.” He’d mused, and Q had blushed.

Before he could return the gesture though, the traffic lights had changed colour, and they were forced back to driving.

By the time they reached the hotel both the seats were disgustingly soggy, and Q couldn’t help but feel some pity for the poor sod on valet duty. Those thoughts were quickly wiped from his mind when James slipped his warm hand into Q’s in their lift journey back to the room. Had it not been full with two younger people, things probably would have gone further. They walked back to their room, and Q opened it with his key code. James walked through after graciously letting Q go first.

And the second the door closes, it’s like all of James’ training comes into fruition at once, because he springs on Q, and slams him into the door.

Q whined in shock, but soon James has shut him up by pressing long, opened mouth kisses to his neck. He’s somehow managed to undo Q’s shirt, popping the buttons and pushing the cheap fabric off his shoulders in a matter of seconds. James made short work of travelling further downwards and licking the expanse of Q’s collar bones, swirling his tongue over lightly formed muscles, and nibbling where skin only just covers bone.

Q squeezed his eyes shut, and threw his head back as far as the door would allow.

“God! Don’t stop!”

James smirked against Q’s skin, and reached back up to kiss him again on the mouth. Q took the lead, and licked into James’ mouth, exploring every crevice and corner he can reach. He could feel this getting more heated by the second- this isn’t a chaste kiss in the rain anymore, its _months_ of pent up arousal and need finally surging forward. He could feel James beginning to get hard beneath him, and that only made Q speed up, desperately wanting more, more, _more_.

He captured James’ soft bottom lip with his own, and bites it just hard enough to avoid drawing blood, and the agent actually let out an honest to God mewl, which only made Q do it again and again and again.

“Shower?” James just manages to get out- and this is the most breathless Q has _ever_ heard him. Q nodded. They pull apart long enough to strip and there’s nothing at all teasing or slow in the way both parties tear off their clothes and then practically sprint to the bathroom. Q feels like a teenager all over again, but if it’s possible, even hornier.

The shower’s turned on, and as they waited for it to heat up, Q admired the sight before him. He’d seen James naked before- there were few people in England who hadn’t, but knowing the mile-long legs, muscular arms and blue eyes were all his- that hit differently. Not to mention he was _fucking hung._

“You’re amazing.” He breathed. “No wonder countries fall to get a piece of this.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” James grinned, before pulling Q into the shower.

The warm water was heavenly in itself, and Q arched his back slightly to make the most of the feeling. James took this opportunity to start kissing Q’s neck again, and soon Q was panting. He’s never wanted like this before in his life- James is all consuming and he felt as though he were about to drown.

He rutted against James, unable to stop himself, but the noises the other man made in response suggested he was just as far gone as Q. James moved his hands, which before were tangled in Q’s wet hair down to Q’s erection, and the touch almost blistered. He stroked Q’s cock and Q had to bite his lips hard to stop himself from screaming. It felt _incredible_.

As James started to move harder and faster Q had to cling harder to his slick wet shoulders, and he buried his nose deep into his neck.

“Please. _Please_ James…”

“Anything.” James panted back, and his cheeks were as flushed as a sunrise. Without any warning he fell to his knees in a way that had to be painful, and after looking up at Q for consent, swallowed him down whole. James’ mouth was warm, and so, so wet, and Q knew he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ last much longer. He threaded his hands into the blond hair bobbing below him to ground himself. James moaned around his cock at the feeling, so Q pulls harder, and James responded perfectly.

“I- I’m close..” He just managed to stutter out, but James only sucked harder, and it tips Q over the edge. With stars in his eyes, and James’s name on his lips, he finally let go, and came. James swallowed every drop.

It took a while for him to come back down, this was _the best_ orgasm he’s ever had, and if it weren’t for James propping him up, he knew he’d be on the shower floor by now.

“Oh- oh my God…” He mumbled. Through blurry vision he could see James slowly stand back up, and before he knew what was happening, he was being kissed again, but slowly and passionately this time.

“That was-“ he went to mumble, but then realised that James was still hard against his leg, and he couldn’t have that now- _could he_?

He wrapped both his hands around James’ cock, and watched with fascination as he comes apart beneath them. James’ writhed and panted like he’s never done when having sex with women on coms, and his eyes are squeezed so tight Q may have been concerned under normal consequences. It was so _God-damned hot._

“So good for me,” Q whispered- because how could he resist? James yelps and bucks into Q, and with more soothing words and kisses from the quartermaster, James was finished in seconds.

Q held him for some time as James also came back down, and he thought that he’d never been so happy in his life.  
“You’re beautiful James. Beautiful, beautiful beautiful.” He whispered as he petted his hair, and James looked up from where he had been resting in Q’s chest. His eyes, his _wonderful_ eyes looked fonder and more blissful than Q could ever remember, and Q blushed.

Lazily, they washed each other, cleaning up sweat, rain and come alike. They shared multiple slow kisses and embraces, and even the odd shy smile. When done, Q dragged James back out into the steam filled bathroom. He remembered being in it the evening before, cleaning blood and panicking, and mused on how much had changed.

They dried, and fell into bed not long after. Sex always made Q sleepy, and the best sex of his life was no different. He still dry swallowed the tablets when James offered them though.

James Bond- Mr Good-At-Everything was apparently also a very good hugger. He wrapped himself around Q, and pressed their foreheads together lightly. Q felt warm, and safe, and ore at home than he’d ever done in his own flat.

“You’re like England..” He drearily mused.

“How so?” James asked, the breath from his words tickling Q’s face ever so lightly.

“You’re home. You look after me- and I look after you.”

James smiled again- and wrapped Q tighter in his arms. Q hugged back, and breathed in James sent. He smelt like guns and petrol, in the way where someone had been exposed to something so much that no matter how many showers they took, it would always be there. Q stupidly wondered if he smelt like computers- if they had much of a smell. Either way, James smelt good.

“Can you tell me your name?” James asked, and he sounded so vulnerable and open Q had to kiss him again. He thought he’d never get enough of that.

“You know I can’t James… It’s for the best. Besides, I’m Q now. Nobody important calls me by my old name anymore.”

“Not even your first name? Q you know I’d die before I ever told anyone.”

Q knew this to be true. He also knew that while telling people his real name wasn’t aloud, neither was sleeping with double-oh agents. He supposed that one more sacrifice couldn’t hurt- not with how far he’d fallen into this already.

So, for better or worse, he pressed his lips to James’ ear, and softly breathed his name. He pulled back, and watched as James tested the name in his own mouth.  
“I like it. Suits you.”

“I’d hope so.”

Q yawned, and tucked his head under James’ chin.

“Funny isn’t it?” James said. “All this time spent looking, for a reason to come home, and you were right here under my nose all along.”

“Careful. It almost sounds like you like me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”

Q snorts.

“But I mean it Q. I can’t describe it. It’s like-“

“Like we’ve met before?” Q finished.

“Exactly.” James paused. “You- you’re different. Don’t ask me why or how, but you are. Maybe it’s the dreams- or your eyes, I just can’t place it. But you are.”

“I feel it too” Q responded, and he’d never been this honest in his life. “I feel like I’ve known you for my whole life.”

“Maybe we’re finally losing it.”

“Speak for yourself.”

They both giggled, but Q’s was broken up with another loud yawn.

“Sleep sweetheart” James spoke. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thankyou.”

“I’m always going to be here now.”

Q smiled against James’ chest, and slept easy, because he knew it was true.

xX------------------------Xx

**Author's Note:**

> Can anyone tell I've never been to paris lol


End file.
